Chapter Text
Heinz was excited. No, scratch that. He was exhilarated.
The second half of summer had been a drag. His schemes hadn’t been the same since that day, when he ran out of evil ideas and Perry had to coax him through an inator block. He didn’t understand the tai chi part of it, but painting again had been nice. Now, he scheduled an hour every day to brainstorm his next invention through edgy art about his childhood sufferings.
The results had been… well, more petty than evil.
Yesterday’s scheme, however, had planted a brilliant, maleficent seed in his brain.
He’d been self-conscious about the MELTY-ICE-CREAM-INATOR because making-all-ice-cream-melty-because-I-actually-like-mine-like-that was more of a personal preference than an evil vendetta. Still, Perry had broken out of his trap1 and was ready to destroy his lame invention to bits. Like a true professional.
A handsome one to boot…
HOWEVER (yes, capital however because he was shouting at his thought narrative), in the middle of their scuffle, Perry’s wrist watch beeped. He accepted the call to reveal Francis Monogram, face flat as a clipboard, lips pressed into a thin, unimpressed line, and eyes narrowing just enough to make Heinz feel small.
“Agent P, I’m sorry to interrupt… whatever this is, but I’m afraid there’s been an incident.” Heinz felt like a bee had just stung his ego.
“The entire country music industry is in danger. We’ve sent Agents TS and B to the scene, who honestly don’t need any backup, but we thought you might want to handle something… of consequence. Carl will send you to the location, so get out there and put a stop to it. And you, Doof, just eat your Ken & Berries out in the sun like a normal citizen.”
He cut the comm to not hear any objection. Because he was a true Arschloch.
Perry looked up, brows drawn together. His eyes, wide and hesitant and guilty, flicked to Heinz.
And Heinz couldn’t stand that gaze—like Perry didn’t agree with Francis, or like this idiotic ice-cream-themed scheme meant something to him… like Heinz meant something to him—so he had to wrap his artificial limbs around himself to keep from running over and smooth out the frown on Perry’s forehead, preferably with his lips. Unfortunately, the motion just made him look like a cross-armed, sulking child.
Okay, maybe he was pouting a little. But hellooo? Petty and evil.
「Sorry.」 Perry signed apologetically, but he grabbed the wrench on the table next to him and threw it at the self-destruct button anyway. Because he was a gentleman.
「I’ll make it up to you.」was the last thing he said before he turned and jetpacked away.
Without a doubt, Heinz was pissed. Francis had always been annoying, but cutting in his scheduled time with Perry for no plausible emergency was crossing a boundary Heinz knew the guy was fully aware of. It was like he wanted Heinz to be evil or something.
So he got to work for the rest of the evening and deep into the night on one of the best ideas he’d had in a while: the SINGULARITY-INATOR! He’d been exchanging emails with Professor Mystery about the artificial micro–black hole his parents discovered—since, you know, family heirlooms—so building a BLACK-HOLE-INATOR was a piece of cake. However, Heinz had a tiny, teeny problem with knowing how much is too much because he had disproved so many theories that “normal” science was basically just a rumor to him. He had wondered if a black hole was enough to make Francis freak out and came to the obvious conclusion that it would not. So he had created what was essentially a way to disintegrate the exotic matter containment field stabilizing the micro-black hole, without which the hole would collapse into an uncontrolled singularity, distort spacetime, and—give or take a few physics-y things—tear this dimension apart…
Maybe DIMENSION-DESTROYER-INATOR would have been a more menacing name, but Heinz had always liked the technical part of evil more than the essence of evil itself. He was sure it would work but didn’t have a chance to test because, well DUH, it only had one shot. Also, the inator was basically the Prius of doomsday devices because Heinz had figured out how to extricate nuclear power in light particles. From the sun.
So now, he was bouncing on his feet, waiting for his 100% uninterrupted time with Perry. He wasn’t actually going to activate the inator, but he knew Perry appreciated a good scheme once in a while. And hey, he could blame Francis in his monologue so Perry could file a report that might prevent future rudeness.
He heard the telltale sound of a hover-jet landing on his balcony and began rubbing his hands together in the universal gesture of a villain about to face the hero.
“Ahhhhhh, Perry the Platypus! How kind of you to come back after the… incident yesterday. And by kind, of course, I mean COMPLETELY UNKI— ” he whipped back around with a practiced sneer… only to bite his tongue at the slouching agent still siting in the jet.
Perry was strapped into the pilot’s seat, fedora tilted over his face, head craned backward as if his neck might snap at any moment. His shoulders rose and fell in heavy breaths, and he had folded his hands in front over his belly.
Heinz tiptoed toward the hover-jet and saw that it had arrived on auto-pilot. He reached out to lift the fedora slightly,2 just to make sure Perry wasn’t playing a trick on him, and froze. The agent’s handsome face was contorted as if in pain. A reddish flush colored his sepia-toned cheeks, and he shivered even as sweat dripped from his forehead.
Heinz’s eyes scanned the teal suit for any sign of a struggle—or worst, blood. Country fanatics could be a crazy bunch…
Once he ruled out mission-related injuries, he concluded that Perry must have gotten sick.
The idea of fearless, indestructible Perry getting sick felt foreign in his brain. Heinz really thought the man wasn’t born but forged from tungsten, or whatever material that made his agent glare so cutting. He was sure that nothing could take Perry down, no less a common cold after country fest. Was this why people said country music could be contagious?
Perry’s tired groan snapped Heinz out of his thoughts—a sound that, under any circumstances except the one that he refused to entertain, shouldn’t have made heat rise in this chest in a way that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature. He mentally dumped a bucket of cold water on himself because there were more urgent things to attend to. Namely, his sick nemesis.
He dug through his lab coat for an abort switch that simultaneously jammed the signals of OWCA’s “secret” cameras and Bluetooth-connected to the inator to trigger self-destruction.3 He then walked over to Norm’s closet.
“Hey, wake up, brickhead,” he said, opening the door to reveal the 10-foot-tall robot, eyes blinking green as he powered up.
“HI, DAD!”
“Yeah, yeah, not your dad, whatever. Can you pick up Perry and put him on the couch? And lower your volume.” Heinz didn’t have time to invent something that would give him the strength to lift an unconscious Perry. He also had to find some rigged-up Tylenol he made that one time.
“SURE, DAD! THE ONE IN THE LAB?” Norm whisper-shouted.
“Yeah that one. The biggest one.”
“OKAY!” His botson stomped over and gripped Perry in his hands, jostling him hard. Perry didn’t open his eye.
“Hey, hey, hey, GENTLE! Jeez, Norm, give the man a break. He’s already so out of it. Put a blanket over him too, will ya?”
“SORRY DAD.” He adjusted his hold into a bridal carry. Heinz should hit the gym more so he wouldn’t need Norm next time. While Norm helped Perry settle, Heinz gathered medication, a thermometer, a cup of water, and a towel he’s soaked in hot water.
“IS OTHER DAD OKAY?” Norm stood next to a tucked-in Perry on the sofa—well, as tucked-in as a giant killer robot could manage. He spoke in his usual chirpy voice, but his smiling mouth plate had inverted.
“Not other dad, and yeah, he’ll be fine, don’t worry.” Heinz remembered the first time Norm had called Perry that in front of the man himself. He’d wanted to jump out of DEI in embarrassment and threatened to throw an acorn at Norm’s chest. His fight left him when he looked over and saw a blush blooming on Perry’s face. It stayed there for the rest of the scheme, and Heinz told himself that it was because Perry had been cringing so hard at the thought of his beautiful self and Heinz. Though Perry later said he didn’t mind, Heinz knew better than to be hopeful.
Anyway, said beautiful agent was beautifully sleeping on Heinz couch, still wracked with discomfort from that blasted country-cold. Heinz was absolutely determined to fix it.
He first helped Perry remove his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He forced himself not to explode like an inator while unbuttoning Perry’s shirt just enough to wipe down his sweaty chest. Teal hair on very toned pecs nearly pushed his self-destruct button.
Focus, you dummkopf.
Heinz gently dabbed the towel across Perry’s face, collecting sweats that might dry on his clothes and make him colder. Once satisfied, he folded the towel and placed it on Perry’s forehead. He took his temperature—104°F (40°C)—and carefully fed him the pill, broken into the right dosage and size to prevent choking. He then grabbed the cup and slowly tilted water into Perry’s mouth.
“Hey, I know it’s uncomfortable but swallow for me, okay?” He said, voice low like a prayer.
To his surprise, Perry’s throat moved. Like he was listening. Like he knew Heinz was about to die from the intimacy of it all.
He turned to Norm who watched the interaction without a word. “Alright. Now, we just have to wait until the acetaminophen kicks in. Monitor his temperature. I’m going to get something.” He handed Norm the thermometer.
A coin slot suddenly opened in one of Norm’s fingers, which sucked in the small tube. Heinz hadn’t even recovered from his surprise when the robot pointed said finger at Perry’s forehead.
“OKAY! 104.123813100000817 DEGREE FAHRENHEIT AND 40.068785055556 DEGREE CELSIUS.”
He really needed to read that manual.
Heinz stood up, eyes lingering on Perry’s face until he saw the frown eased slightly, then grabbed a box and a screwdriver and headed down to his basement. He dug through piles upon piles of junk for what felt like hours until he found the Home-Inator.
Perry had once slipped that he lived with family—Heinz’s heart twisted at the thought of Perry’s partner—so he knew he couldn’t keep him. Even if he desperately wanted to. Always.
He began unscrewing the main panel, grabbed the mainframes, and carried them back to his apartment.
“What’s his stats?” he asked, closing the door with his foot.
“102.2131933199999168 DEGREE FAHRENHEIT AND 39.0073296222222 DEGREE CELSIUS.”
Heinz nodded, relieved. “Let him sleep for now. Come here and help me with this. Gentle steps.”
“OKAY DAD!” The crescent metal mouth swung back into a smile as Norm activated the padding under his foot, walking over to Heinz like a soft breeze. They began rebuilding the inator as quietly as possible, making sure to aim the ray at the sleeping figure nearby. They were done in around an hour.
“Stats?” Heinz asked, walking over to Perry, whose frown had completely disappeared. His breaths were easy and steady now.
“98.632132100005933 DEGREE FAHRENHEIT AND 37.01785116667 DEGREE CELSIUS.”
Heinz reached out and removed the towel, which was no longer warm. Even though he had the precise temperature readings from Norm, he couldn’t resist placing his palm on Perry’s forehead… then sliding it down to cup his cheek.
It was strange to want someone like this. To pinch yourself on the thigh with the hand not cradling their face, so you wouldn’t move closer than you already had. To fight against an inexplicable urge to simply hold them, murmuring soft reassurances in their ears so that, in their dreams, they would know that they were safe. To brush your thumb along their strong malar bone, so faintly so that they wouldn’t wake up and realize how much you wanted to lean down and kiss them senseless.
But when you love something, you have to let it go. (And then trap it in a strictly professional nemesis-ship until it stops hurting.)
Heinz peeled his finger away and returned to the inator. He turned it on with the absolute certainty that it would take Perry back to whatever family was waiting for him. He only hoped they wouldn’t notice the fever and wouldn't bother Perry too much so he could sleep some more.
Once Perry disappeared, Norm asked, “WHAT NOW, DAD?” It was oddly indirect for him, as if he’d gained enough sentience to know not to question anything he saw. Or perhaps, he simply saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“Well, I suppose I'll have to find a different way to annoy Francis.” He muttered.
He really was excited about today's scheme. But if it meant he could steal a few seconds to examine Perry up close, cataloging his stunning features in more detail than before, he would call it a win.
Only one thing left to do.
Carl sat at his desk, biting his nails as the loading bar ticked up to 99%. The entirety of OWCA’s tech department had gathered to remove whatever blocker had been placed on their cameras’ signals at DEI. For the first time, they realized that (1) Doofenshmirtz knew about the surveillance but hadn’t done anything about it until now and (2) he could easily take down their entire system.
Monogram had sent Perry out in blind panic when they found out what the inator-of-the-day was designed to do. The Major hadn’t noticed the tiredness in Perry’s posture, likely from staying up all night dealing with the CMA Fest situation. His report claimed he had destroyed the machine that could have caused a common cold outbreak at the festival, but he had also used his own body to block one of the shots.
Given that the Major never read those reports, Carl would have advised sending someone else. However, the magnitude of Doof’s evil was off the chart this time, so he watched as Perry dragged himself onto the hover-jet. He didn’t even seem to register what the mission was about.
“If the cameras aren’t on in the next 10 seconds, I’m going to send in backup!” Major Monogram barked. Carl suspected that he was more interested in watching the fight than in Perry’s safety.
At the 9th second, the debug codes successfully went through. All cameras flipped on at once, showing Doofenshmirtz and Norm standing on the balcony next to… a different inator?
“Aim it right this time, Norm,” the scientist said over the cameras’ audio. Before anyone could fully process what was happening, a beam fired…
“Carl! Check the directi—”
… and hit Major Monogram squarely in the back, through walls and all.
“Oh my God, sir!” Everyone rushed to the Major. Some agents eyed one another, hands on tasers ready to take down an evil Monogram.
“I… I…” The Major stammered, clearly disoriented by the ray.
“Sir?” Carl raised his hands defensively.
“I suddenly have a strong desire to approve all of your vacation requests, especially Perry’s.” He said in monotone.
The room went silent for a moment. When reality returned, all agents in the room scrambled to their cubicles, likely to draft some requests and text their colleagues.
“Carl, submit one for Perry since we don’t know what happened to him. Make it a week.” Monogram ordered, still dazed.
“But sir…”
“And give yourself a stipend for at least 3 months of services. Take it right out of my upcoming paycheck!”
So Carl said nothing and walked to the finance department. He’d worry about Doofenshmirtz later. Maybe even sent him one of those almond brittle gift basket that he liked.
Without the “Congrats on Switching Sides” card, of course.
1Made entirely out of waffle cones.
2It was such a good disguise because he almost mistook Perry for Steven, the homeless guy he met that one time he hired a Platypus hunter.
3He made the switch but never used it until now. He didn’t want OWCA to increase their stupid monitoring more than they already had. Honestly, though, he might have daydreamed of a bunch of scenarios where it would come in handy as he ran over to grab Perry’s face and kiss him until the longing oozed out of himself.